Her Time to Play, a Halloween Horror Nights Short
by ThievingCuriousity
Summary: A graphically violent story about what happens to our beloved clowns when the Carnival closes down each year on November first, what it's like to be the unsung herald of THE Horror Nights icon, and how long you can keep a girl down.


From beneath his gag, she could hear his delicious whimpers. The skin around his blindfold had turned red from pressing against it and she could see beads of sweat dotting the surface of his quivering, adrenaline flooded scalp. He breathed hard, seeming to test the snugness of his freshly dry cleaned suit to his wrists and whether or not he could slip free. He couldn't; his bonds were just too tight and even if he tried he would break his bound fingers in the process. She skipped with excitement at the thought and twirled her two pigtails, her delicate footsteps not escaping the notice of her guest. She cackled and smiled at his startled jerk in her direction, gently running her long nails down his cheek.

"You certainly know how to treat a lady!"

All her prisoner could hear then was the metallic shhhhhlick of her withdrawn blade upon the chair to which he was bound. He lurched forward in a fruitless effort to escape, only to have her claws digging into his forehead as the simultaneously icy and burning sensation of the dagger's edge slid along his cheek, severing the gag and forcing a quick gasp out of him in the process.

"Who are you?! Why are you doing this?" he spat in a voice dripping with pant-wetting fear. Though he couldn't see it, he could hear her smile had mutated into a violent sneer with her next words.

"So I'm not good enough for you to remember me?! Oh sweetie, all you have to know is I am the _wrong_ gal to fuck with. Maybe this will jog your memory."

She promptly took her seat across from him in the little circle of yellow light her unicorn lamp cast from the end table. From underneath her chair she produced a pair of spike-studded black and red stilettos which she began strapping to her feet while she ignored his increasingly anxious inquiries. She got to her feet with a sharp knock on the floor and began pacing in front of him.

"You knooooow, I think I look pretty good in these! It really is too bad you can't see them. I bet I could really make a guy's HEAD TURN." She gracefully roundhouse kicked him in the face, catching this flesh with the silvery studs and tearing three deep gashes into his jaw. "I definitely got a LEG UP on the competition," in similar accordance with the pun she kicked the heel of her left leg under his chin, cutting his screams off as he bit his own tongue. "And I think we got off on the wrong foot!" Finally, she brought her right leg crashing down square onto his balls, instantly splattering blood across his starched slacks and leaving the relentless stiletto there as she leaned in close and playfully pinched his nose. "My name's Chance, and since you think you're man enough to wrap your hands around these legs, I'm going to show you just why there's only one guy for me!"

With that, Chance eased the pressure off his shattered loins and reached over to the gag, laying in the small puddle of blood that had splattered from her work, and the sight of the bright red ball brought up such a surge of confused emotions that hadn't been present during her odd form of stress release, she faltered. As she felt her lip quiver and her eyes begin to tear up, she didn't know whether it was sadness or anger, and hurriedly shoved the gag back into her victim's decimated mouth and tied it tight. She quickly locked the door to her wardrobe closet that functioned as a secret torture room, grabbing a black hooded coat and a more comfortable pair of boots that had escaped the shower of blood on the way out.

Outside her dressing room, Chance saw that the sky had begun showering the nearby tents and made the dusty fairgrounds slick with mud and smelly stuff. She looked disappointedly at her nice, clean boots but decided ultimately she had to get some air to clear her head. She made her way to the city, where the buildings stood like gray statues to deserted loneliness, the odd black-clad stranger cowered under bus stops for shelter, the bums huddled in flooded alleys counting the day's earnings in each of their little cups. They crawled out of their boxes to take an eyeful of the lovely lady walking by, but quickly found something else to look at when they noticed her striking glowing yellow eyes. She sighed, remembering when someone else used to look at her that way. Internally, she struggled with the emptiness left behind each time he went away. She blamed him, somehow it was his fault for what he did to her and he didn't even seem to care, but was she out of line to think that? God forbid he find out she had bad thoughts about him, then he might never come back!

She found herself beneath the amber marquee of the seediest bar in town, an old fire blackened tavern with crumbling exteriors, shattered windows no one ever bothered to replace, and peeling, yellowed floral print wallpaper inside. It was her home away from home, where every highwayman and convict knew her face and rarely was anyone stupid enough to piss her off. Some new drunken faces were gathered around the pool table shooting billiards and whiskey while the usual knife twirling, wild eyed maniac here or biker jacket sporting, unshaven mammoth there merely nodded when she walked in. The grizzled bar tender quickly poured her a glass of her usual, leaving the bottle, and went to the end of the bar to watch the latest football game on his black-and-white tv while absently wiping cups with a cloth. She stared at the beads of condensation running down her cup's side into a puddle on the counter, stone faced. She was sick of it, sick of the pain, the loneliness, sick of never being able to enjoy her time she actually got to spend with him for fear at any moment he would leave again. It was so bad that even killing people only brought her fleeting moments of happiness before something reminded her of that god forsaken clown.

She looked down towards the bar tender, whose soft eyes quickly noticed her distress, and she solemnly spoke when he came over to greet her.

"How do you keep going, Michael?"

"Missing him again, miss?"

"That's none of your business!" Chance was suddenly defensive, but then seemed to realize her outburst and apologized with her tone of voice, "I mean, what gives you a reason to get up in the morning and come back to cleaning glasses all day?"

Michael chuckled lightly at her over simplification of his job. "My wife and kid. Hell, usually my kid wakes me up, anyways. I'm here because it puts bread on their table."

Chance looked down at her glass again, feeling the tears start to well up and fighting them back. "They're very lucky to have you" she barely managed to choke out. Michael raised his eyebrows in sad understanding. "But I'm a married man, already settled down and nearing the end of my line here. A pretty little lady like you got so much life left in you, I hate to see you tie yourself down like this."

"Really?" Chance blushed, "Tie myself down?"

"Why, yes. Truth is, I don't think you need any man who can't see that." Michael leaned close to her over the counter, staring intently into her red and black painted eyes.

Chance furrowed her brow in several moments of thought, looking down at her glass again, conflicted. "You know what? You're right." She began with vague optimism. Chance pulled out her short throwing knife and twisted its point around on her finger. "I could make a name for just myself. Yeah, who needs some undead, washed up clown when you have the lovely lady to run the show!" She slammed the blade into the already gouged counter top and looked at her reflection in it, beaming. The thoughts of all the fun she could have herself as ring leader, plus how preposterous it seemed at that moment, made her excite into a fit of giggles.

Under his mustache, Michael's lips pulled back into a genuine, snaggle-toothed grin at her newfound self-confidence. She looked longingly back at him, suddenly grateful for all the nights he's patiently listened to her drunken sorrows and his always encouraging words. Before she could thank him, the three guys who had been standing at the pool table sauntered over, grinning ear to ear as the stupidest looking one leaned an arm dangerously close to hers.

"You know, I was afraid of clowns as a kid, but I think you could help me get over that," he licked his lips. His buddies held back snickers as well as alcohol would let them. Chance glanced over to him, smiled sweetly, and Michael joked cautiously, "I don't know if you're man enough to do that, buddy."

"Nobody asked you, old man! I wanna know if the carpet matches the drapes, sweet cheeks." The three busted into laughter, during which it became clear that Chance was growing impatient of this conversation.

"You know, you remind me of my ex."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! His flower would always SQUIRT TOO EARLY!"

"Wha-" Before he could finish his inquiry she had plunged her dagger into his meat dagger straight through to his pelvis. "AaaiEEEE!" She shoved him backwards so he and his buddies all toppled to the ground in the bloody puddle. She grabbed a barstool.

"He never knew when to QUIT while he was AHEAD!" She slammed the stool's legs down on either side of the left friend's neck, crushing his windpipe with the metal pole, then ripped upward so it caught his jaw and decapitated his head from his body with a satisfying "pop" that sent shreds of muscle and connective tissue flying.

"He couldn't help his WANDERING EYE" Chance grabbed her glass from the counter and jammed it into the drunk on the right's eye socket just as he was struggling to get up. The alcohol singed his newly torn flesh and flooded through the broken skull into his brain, causing him to spasm and foam at the mouth on the floor. She lifted the cup and glared at the blood red, frothy mixture with the floating eyeball garnish. "I always hated Bloody Marys" she growled under her breath. She withdrew the blade from the last survivor's groin and straddled his chest.

"Lastly, you remind me of my ex because, uh, because, well….." She hesitated, unable to come up with one last pun. "Ugh, I always hated that fucking blender" He screamed for her to stop as the blade came down between his ribs, straight through his heart. The punctured organ began spraying blood around the blade, spattering her face and catching her off guard. She gasped, then sighed cathartically as she smeared it across her lips, her eyes closed.

In a moment she stood up and pulled her knife out, throwing a sideways glance to Michael, who had only stood and watched the slaughter with a strange content smile on his face.

"Sorry about the mess" Chance sighed disinterestedly, motioning for another glass to fill with the bottle still on the counter. Michael gladly obliged.

"That's perfectly fine, miss. You know, I always liked a lady who could get rough."

"Oh, is that so?" A twinkle of mischief came to her eye.

"Yes ma'am. Any man would be lucky to, uh, get to know you a little better."

"Well, you seem pretty lucky to me, Michael."

"Do I, miss?"

"Mhmm. Maybe you could show me how to settle down, mm? Tomorrow at my place?"

"I'd like that."

Chance left with a satisfied smirk on her face, stepping over the slumped over bodies on the floor and passed the seemingly disinterested patrons who knew well enough to mind their own business. Her strides back to the fairgrounds were strong and sure, her mind caught up with this new idea, this new freedom which had never occurred to her before. She wasn't quite sure if she really could go on without him, but she'd be damned if she didn't put her best foot forward in trying. As she came up to the colorful tents and temporary shacks that were all she knew, she spotted a dancer, dressed all in black leather and fishnets, skulking about the entrance.

"Hey you!" she shouted, surprising her.

"Yes, Miss Chance?" While timid, she had an odd sense of anxiousness about her, like a dog itching to be unchained, a feeling that Chance knew all too well.

"I got some garbage going out tonight. See that it's dealt with, will ya?" It wasn't abnormal for her to talk to the maniacs like this, but now it felt different. Now, she felt powerful, like she could get used to this. The dancer nodded with an evil grin forming, being careful to avoid eye contact for too long. Chance dismissed her with a wave of her hand and carefully found the dry path back to her trailer. Inside, she slid off her black coat and unlocked her closet, not at all surprised at how quiet her little toy had become. She peered at him through the open door, leaning on the frame for a little while, a little bored with him now that he was unconscious, undoubtedly from blood loss and shock. Dried blood and bone fragments made a trail down his chin to his smushed dick, a smell Chance was not at all upset to rid herself of. She laboriously drug his chair into her main living space, kicked her door open, then shoved him down the two steps so he landed on his side in the mud with a listless groan.

"That'll teach ya for grabbing my ass." She wiped her hands together and slammed the door. She let herself sink into her favorite comfy chair into deep thought, fiddling with her ribbons in her hair. _This year will be mine_ , she thought, _I'll make the rules, and I'll put on one hell of a show._ Behind her, she thought she could faintly hear a muted thumping. She swiveled her chair to face a large, red and yellow box with letters in large carnival font on each side that sat on her makeup desk. It almost looked like it was backlit by an eerie, pulsing green light that seemed like it grew in intensity when she turned to it. She rested in shadow with only her eyes visible, betraying an unseen smile as she addressed the box.

"Sorry, Jack, but you've been ringleader for too long, and there's not much you can do about it in there, huh? Now, it's my _chance_ to shine! Haha! The Carnival of Carnage will rise again, better than ever! And you, well, another year in that box couldn't hurt!"

A furious growl escaped the box in muffled tones, and it began to shake and thump violently. Chance threw her head back and cackled, standing up from her chair and producing a large strap off of a straightjacket. She held the box down against its rampant pulsating as she wrapped it up tight, locked it down, and taunted it.

"Oh, by the way, I'm expecting company tomorrow. Don't worry, I'll give him a front row seat to the Carnival for sure. Buuuuut maybe I'll show him a little something else first! Hahaha!"


End file.
